


Now and Forever

by ysse_writes



Category: Mickey Mouse Club RPF, NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Super short ficlet based purely on the "Now and Forever" MMC clip featuring JC and Tony, for D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now and Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers; Don't own them, don't know them, all lies.
> 
> Warnings: Super short ficlet based purely on the "Now and Forever" MMC clip featuring JC and Tony. No research, no betas, no shame. Read at your own risk. OMG, I wrote MMC slash. What is wrong with me?
> 
> For D.
> 
> Please don't use, forward, or archive without permission

JC doesn't really know how he ended up part of the Mickey Mouse Club. Before he came to Orlando he hadn't even been certain that he wanted to be a performer. Oh, he loved music, of course. People have described him as living and breathing music, and he considers this no exaggeration. Performing for thousands of strangers, however, is another thing entirely. It's something he's still not sure he wants, or even something he can do. He's tried to piece it all together, the steps and twists that brought him here but all he's really clear about is the bet. That's all he can point to, really.

He knows why he stays, though.

He knows why he's here right now, standing uninvited just inside of Tony's room, while Tony plays his guitar, oblivious to his presence.

He'll never understand why Tony prefers those tall wooden stools, even off stage. They aren't at all comfortable. JC avoids them whenever he can, preferring to stand, to move around. He's not at all good with the sitting still, comfortable chairs or not.

But he's learned that some things are worth holding still for.

Tony never closes the door when he plays, something that JC found strange in the beginning. Tony never minds people coming over to hang in his room, never complains about people barging in, messing up his groove and disrupting his flow. Hours and hours of rehearsal each day, and the other kids are always trying to get Tony to go out, to 'do something fun' and 'stop working so hard.' In the beginning JC found it incomprehensible that Tony would allow this, let himself be torn away from the music so easily. He himself was fiercely protective of his free time, the few precious hours each day that he was allowed to rest, hours when the music he played was for him alone, not an audience. Truth be told, he used to hold it against Tony, figuring the other boy just didn't take the music as seriously as he did.

JC understands now that Tony allows this because he isn't afraid, the way JC sometimes is, that he'll lose the music once he lets go. He's utterly certain that he can lay down his guitar a hundred million times, and the music will still be there waiting for him when he comes back. No, that isn't right, JC corrects himself. Tony can lay down his guitar a million times because he knows that's not where the music is. He can stop in the middle of the song without fear of losing it because he knows it doesn't come to him from out of the blue, a gift from some fickle temperamental muse -- a concept JC is only starting to fathom. Tony knows he'll never lose it because the music is inside him. Because it's _him_.

It's entirely for personal and non-altruistic reasons, therefore, that today JC closed the door behind him.

Left alone, Tony gets lost in the music, the same way JC does, the same way JC's dad gets lost in his books, the way his Mom gets lost in her soaps. Tony plays for hours upon hours with his eyes closed, feeling the music, feeling his way through the music, his fingers mapping the way on his strings.

JC gets lost in that, too, in the expression on Tony's face, the way his hands move.

The music changes, notes blending and overlapping seamlessly as Tony shifts to another song. JC closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall, letting the music carry him away.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, just listening. Letting himself drink it in, swim in it, drown in it. JC thinks this is what music is, really, what music should be. Tony and his guitar, his voice barely loud enough to be heard, entire rifts when he doesn't even sing, really, only hums along, but JC can feel it everywhere anyway.

When he first came here, JC got a long lecture from his father about this being 'a particularly vulnerable age' for him and the other kids, and how it was 'important to keep your head on straight and not get swept away by your emotions.' JC hadn't understood what his father had been babbling about, really.

He's starting to, though.

 _Big time._

JC can't separate what he feels for Tony from the music. Tony runs through him, pulses through his blood, echoes in his ears; each perfect note of him making JC sigh and shiver. If he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, he can almost taste Tony. He can feel him there, in the pit of his stomach.

When they sing together, just the two of them, nothing but the music between them, carrying them, he has to close his eyes. The music rises in him, fills him, and he can only respond, helplessly, joyfully.

JC knows now that it's entirely possible to get drunk from a song.

Or from a smile.

He knows now that it's entirely possible to lose sight of the line that separates one's self from someone else, to be touched so thoroughly that nothing could ever be the same again. To be so changed that a new name would seem not only acceptable, but logical, _right_.

The music ends, the last notes linger then float away. JC sighs for the loss, then opens his eyes to find that Tony has beaten him to it, that his eyes are open, and he's looking at JC. JC should feel like an intruder, an interloper, but he doesn't. Tony doesn't look like he's at all surprised to see JC there, like he's known all along.

And he looks like he knows why.

"JC, hey."

JC smiles. He knows why he's here, too. And for the first time in his life he's not afraid of feeling so much. He's not afraid of the fires that burn inside him.

"Hey," he replies.

Tony smiles back, and something in the way he holds out his hand makes JC's heart skip a beat, makes him hold still inside himself. He doesn't understand it, not really. He can't describe it, can't explain it. Words have never been his strong suit anyway. All his life his parents have encouraged him to speak his mind, to verbalize his emotions, and he's never been able to.

But there's something there, he thinks, in the way Tony smiles at him, reaches out to him, reaches _for_ him, with no reluctance or stinginess. Something important. Something that speaks to him, even if he can't quite understand it yet.

He will, though. Someday. And he'll remember.

Someday, JC thinks, he might find the words to this song. But even if he doesn't, he knows it won't matter. He understands now that sometimes they're just not necessary. For the first time in his life, he understands just what it is the listeners hear, what the fans see.

He knows it's not something he can lose, or something he can leave behind, and it's not something that will ever ever leave him.

Years and years from now, when people ask him when he knew, when he understood what he was, he'll flash back to this. He knows that all he'll ever need to remember that he's special, that he's worthy, is the memory of this moment, that smile, Tony reaching out his hand to pull him down on the stool beside him.

All he'll ever need is the memory of Tony saying to him, "C'mere, man. Come and sing with me."

©JCSA / [2003](http://lisan.livejournal.com/2003/)-[05](http://lisan.livejournal.com/2003/05/)-[15](http://lisan.livejournal.com/2003/05/15/) 00:48:00


End file.
